The Most Beautiful Catapult Ever

When I was a kid, the house we lived in is at the foot of a series of hills. A small stream which originates from these hills flowed past our house. One day, a friend and I decided to trace the source of the stream. So, we headed upstream, clambering over the numerous rocks and boulders that filled the stream and ducking under the ferns and tall grass that lined both sides of the stream. After climbing for hours and tiring from the effort, we were relieved that we were approaching the highest peak. We knew then that the end of our climb is near.
Suddenly we reached a clearing and we realized that we had reached a rubber estate. What surprised us was there was a cement pool about ten feet wide, twenty feet long and three feet high in the clearing. Now, who would want to build a swimming pool in a rubber estate on top of a hill I wondered? Slowly we approached the pool. It was almost as tall as us and when we peered inside, we were astonished to see that it was full of tortoises of all sizes! Before we could react, a man suddenly emerged from behind some rubber trees and I immediately recognized him as Mister Hendricks, a teacher in my school who was known to be quite stern. He wanted to know what we were doing there and we quickly explained to him our mission and assured him that we were not there to steal the tortoises. To our immense relief, he believed us.
We wanted to continue on our journey but Mister Hendricks refused to allow us to go further into his estate saying that the climb up the peak is very steep and dangerous. Grudgingly, we gave up our quest. Hell, we were dead tired anyway. When we bade Mister Hendricks goodbye, I swear I could see the ghost of a smile on his face and laughter in his eyes; hmm, maybe he was not that stern after all.

I used to go fishing at a small pool in the stream too. Fishing then was simple; a bamboo pole, a string and a hook. I used bread crumbs as bait. The fish that I usually caught were what we then called “white fish” which thrives amongst the rocks of swift flowing waters. These are small fish about a few inches long with pink fins and large prominent scales which are shiny and have a golden hue. I think these are a type of carp fish.
But the fish that I cannot forget was the catfish that I caught. It was very different from the other types of catfish which lives in drains and are either grey or dark in colour. This catfish was brown in colour with two white rings on both sides of its body. I have never seen such a beautiful catfish before and decided to take it home with me. I kept it in a tin of water and fed it with bread crumbs. However, the catfish refused to eat. It grew thinner and thinner and after about a week, I realized that it was homesick. So, reluctantly, I took it back to the pool where I had caught it and released it. It immediately swam under a rock without even a goodbye. Oh well, I guess it had a right to be annoyed.

The hill immediately behind our house was uninhabited and covered with brush. One day, I had climbed up the hill alone to look for the best forked branch to make a catapult. The small trees and shrubs reached up to my chin as I waded into the undergrowth. Finally, after a long search, I found the perfect fork, chopped it off and took it home with me. That night, I noticed two pairs of puncture marks on my thigh. My uncle told me that these marks were made by snake bites and that I had been bitten twice! Darn! Had that snake been venomous, my body would never have been found for no one knew that I was up in the hills that morning.
The catapult I made was a beauty with perfectly symmetrical arms shaped like the horns of a water buffalo and I was so proud! Unfortunately, I only used it twice.
The first time was one evening when, for some unknown reason, the blooming giant angsana tree near my house was literally swarmed by thousands of tiny green birds. The familiar yellow flowers of the angsana which normally cover the tree was completely hidden by a carpet of green birds and there was a loud humming sound. I took my catapult out and shot a marble straight up into the birds in the tree. The tree was about fifty feet tall and I was not sure I hit anything until I saw one of the birds detach itself from the rest and began to slowly spiral downward. When it finally reached the ground, I noticed that one of its tiny wings had been broken and I instinctively knew that it would not survive. I felt bad because I did not mean it any harm. I just wanted to hold one of these cute fluffy little birds in my hands.
The second time was when I spotted the most beautiful bird that I had ever seen among the hibiscus plants at the back of my neighbour’s house. It was dark blue in colour with shiny green patches at the breast and specks of yellow and orange all over. I shot at it with my catapult and it fell to the ground. I stared, transfixed with horror, as it thrashed about on the ground in its death throes and then suddenly, it was still. I knew it was dead. The remorse hit me hard and I flung away my catapult.

So if any of you are interested in the most beautiful catapult ever, it is still lying there, somewhere among the shrubs at the back of my old house.